


Cake Fixes Everything

by armyofbees



Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: Child Neglect, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Excessive Gayness, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Possessive Behavior, Soft Ayano, Stalking, Touch-Starved, but then chapter 2 happens, chapter 1 looks like Serious Business, cutting the gordian knot of love triangles, here there be fluff, it’s all downhill from there, or maybe uphill depending on how you look at it?, so many lovers, the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, tsunderes need a reason to be tsundere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: You know how sometimes you rewatch the Rival Introduction video and just fall a little bit in love with every one of the girls? If Yandere Sim is a dating sim gone wrong, this is the whole opposite end of the spectrum.In other words: Happy Valentine's Day, have some murder.





	1. Week One - Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, it's Bees' beta again! Yeah, hi, I'm still alive, and editing Come With Me as we speak. But I've been planning this fic for a while, so...
> 
> I don't *like* writing in first person, but for this story it's a bit of a survival mechanism. There's only so much pronoun variation one can get when there's seven women in a scene. At least Ayano and Senpai are easily differentiable.

 

One bright day in the middle of the night…

 

I feel nothing. It’s hardly terrible; after all, I've never known anything else. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't push me to do stupid things, it's just... nothing. Boring.  
My first week of school begins today, and I can't be late. Attendance is very important for getting a good job, and a good job is important for feeding oneself, and food is important for living. And I'm told that living is important, because... just because. Terribly Boring.  
Despite my ‘big day’, my parents are out of town. They're always out of town, sending me postcards and pictures of far-off lands, but I don't feel left behind, or jealous. I don't feel. But there's no one to wake me up, so I get out of bed and get dressed and make myself toast and set out for school, because.  
The school gates rise into the sky, tall and impressive; Akademi High is rich, fattened on a dozen wealthy patrons, my mother among them. The walls loom high, eclipsing the town. They're to protect us from the outside world.

Boring.

I'm so tired of being bored.

I turn the corner into the school, attention caught for just a moment by the simple, elegant building; but in that moment of distraction, I run straight into someone. There’s a masculine shriek, and then we’re both falling in a tangle of limbs. I twist in midair to try and reduce the impact, but there’s a leg wrapped around my ankle and an arm waving in my face and we both go down hard, bouncing apart on the cold flagstones. I’m already moving the second I’m free, despite the wind being very thoroughly knocked out of me, but the other manages to scramble to their feet first.

"I- I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you up-"

I look up, past a hand held out to help me to my feet, into a simple, boyish face with a simple, boyish haircut, and kind, dark eyes overflowing with apology. The moment stretches, the world fades around us - everything goes pink and glowing and the world snaps back into place, exploding with bright bursts of color. The sakura tree is pink, and- and beautiful! It’s beautiful, not because of the golden ratio or aesthetic or anything else, but its colors and shape and something unfurls in my chest- My face goes hot; my hand rises towards his without any input from me-

"Taro! Get over here, baka!" cries a annoyed voice. The boy - Taro-kun? - drops his hand and hops backwards, looking guiltily over his shoulder.

"I- I'm sorry, miss. I have to go. I'll make it up to you!" He turns and flees to the company of an orange-haired girl, who instantly begins berating him for something I can't make out. The second he leaves, the color leaches back out of everything. My face returns to its normal temperature. My hand drops.

Suddenly, inexplicably, I crave it. I crave him. It's all the same. All the things I've been missing for every year of my life, that Mom always said my Destined Person would someday show me. A sakura petal is pink, and I know that, but for one single moment it _mattered_ . Just because, and because was enough. It wasn’t _boring,_ it was… it was _everything_ , everything under the sun.

So if that orange-haired harpy plans to keep the colors from me, well. That simply won't do.

 

~~~

 

I limit myself to watching the boy from a distance for the rest of the day. He's an upperclassman, I find, Taro Yamada. My Senpai. The orange-haired girl seems to be his childhood friend, Osana. I can't imagine what he sees in her.

After class I watch from the shadows to make sure he gets home safely, and that Osana stays securely outside his house, before heading home myself.

The second the front door closes behind me, my phone buzzes. How strange; no one but my parents should have my number, and mom always leaves her phone behind when she goes on vacation. Something about traceability.

The text, too, is a strange one, from a blocked number.

 

_I saw you stalking an upperclassman today._

  
My thumb hovers over the keypad for a moment.

 

_Do you have a problem with that?_

 

No use denying it, if this person has the know-how to track down my phone number. The reply comes almost immediately.

 

_No. I wanted to give you some information about the girl he was with._

_Her name is Osana Najimi._

_She has a crush on him._

_She’s planning to confess to him next Friday._

 

My brow furrows. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser.

 

_Why are you telling me this?_

 

The reply, when it comes, feels almost… gleeful. I’m instantly wary.

 

_I would be happy if something bad happened to Osana-chan._

_I think you might be the right person to give her what she deserves._

 

That’s straying much too close to some dangerous truths, there. My update to mom is going to be longer than I originally planned. Time to dig for as much information as possible.

 

_Who are you?_

 

_I’m the person nicknamed “Info-chan” at school._

 

Oh, ho. Well now. This is far bigger than I’m comfortable handling on my own. Stalling tactics are in order.

 

_I’ve heard rumors about you. You blackmail girls and sell panty shots to boys. Nobody knows your real name._

 

_The rumors are true._

_If you ever need a favor, text me a panty shot and I’ll give you whatever support I can._

 

_You’re disgusting._

 

Probably not the best tactic for extracting information, but it needs to be said.

 

_You’re a stalker._

 

That’s just uncalled for! I gear up to reply, but her closing remarks send a chill through me.

 

_You have one week until your precious Senpai belongs to Osana-chan._

_I hope you make her suffer._

 

Well, that’s right out. Osana is Senpai’s...friend, no matter how much it pains me to say it. So no foul play; hurting her would hurt him, and I can’t let that happen. Ever. But I also can’t bear to see her have him. I have one week. Another solution is in order.

The first item on the agenda is to inform mom of all that’s happened. She always told me that I'd one day find my destined person, like she'd found hers, so I think she'd be happy to know she was right.

...huh. I know what "happy" feels like, now. How strange.

I miss it. The emptiness is no longer boring - it hurts.

With the curtains drawn and the lights turned low, I pull out a postcard. Mom and dad’s locations while they’re on vacation are privileged information, and there’s no way to tell precisely who’s watching.

So. Destined person and unidentifiable information leak. What a lovely status report.

 

~~~

 

With the postcard sent and schoolwork finished, I find myself buzzing with excess energy. This is highly irregular; ordinarily I make dinner and fall asleep like clockwork, just as Mom trained me. But my appetite seems to have fled, and all that exists behind my closed eyes is that boy - my Senpai - and the half-remembered burst of searing, lovely color. I don’t know what to do with myself.

Pacing helps a bit, and a run around the block a bit more, but in the end I find myself in the cinder block basement Mom says is important to have in every house. There’s endless, bleak hours until tomorrow, when I can see that boy again - when I have to endure watching him with the pink-stockinged menace - until I can get the colors back. It’s unbearable, but my body won’t let me sleep.

So, there in that most secure and secret room of the house, I stay awake, and I plan.

 

~~~

 

At school, the next morning, I settle onto a bench against the wall of the courtyard, hidden behind one of Akademi’s many cherry trees. Less than two minutes later, Senpai appears from the entranceway and settles at the base of the tree, talking animatedly with Osana; just as planned. I curl into myself, giddy with glee - _glee_ , isn’t that a fun one? - the colors popping around me like popcorn and sweets and the scent of blooming flowers-

Oh. Well, isn’t this interesting?

Even through the pink haze suffusing my every thought, I am still my mother’s daughter. And no Aishi worth her salt misses a new variable so obvious as a lovestruck boy ducking out of sight when the orange-haired harpy turns away from what is rightfully _mine_ to glance in his direction.

He’s not at all her type, of course; if he was, I’d hardly be having this problem, would I? But it’s something to work with - a base on which to build my art. Aishis are quite good at misdirection, after all.

The bell rings, and Osana snaps something at Senpai. I bristle, rage and protectiveness so strong they nearly bowl me over, but he just smiles and follows her back into the school. The colors fade, sweet-soft-love-colored petals becoming simply pink, sparkle-laugh-calm water bleeding clear, until I can hardly remember why I was angry, let alone what anger is.

But if I use this new, forgettable boy and win my prize… well, I can remember, and I can have, and no one will take Senpai away from me.

Because most of all, Aishis get what they want.

 

~~~

 

I corner the boy during lunch, after making sure Senpai and Osana are safely ensconced on the roof and out of the path of bullies. That Ronshaku girl is going to have to be talked to if her little gang of spray-tan models keep tripping Senpai in the halls.

But that is a concern for the future. Right now I have cornered a boy in an empty classroom, looming over him like the predator I am. Despite that, he doesn’t appear scared of me; an idiot, then. Good. I can use idiots.

“Hello,” I begin, and even though I _try_ , I can’t muster any inflection to my words, not like Mom can. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, so that’s okay.

“Um, hi,” he replies, raising an eyebrow at the rows of empty desks, “Uh, did you need something?”

My smile is a gentle thing, well-practiced in the mirror, meant to relax and soothe. That’s one bonus of the emptiness; I have no emotions to hide, so my expression is malleable as any other part of my charade. “I noticed you watching Osana-chan earlier today,” I giggle, soft, like a secret. He laughs and rubs his neck awkwardly.

“Uh, you saw that, huh? Yeah, um, I know she’s way out of my league, but a guy can dream, right?” he laughs again, self-deprecatingly, and I add _self-esteem issues_ to the little mental file I keep on every potential asset.

Still smiling, I tilt my head, “I think you’d be cute together, though. Want some help wooing her?”

His eyes grow comically wide, and he leans unconsciously forward. “Really? You’d do that? But- I mean- how?”

I tilt imperceptibly towards him, very consciously mimicking his body language. “I just think it would be super cute, you know? Come back to this room at lunch, tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what you need to do to catch Osana’s attention.”

Before I’m even done speaking, he’s nodding excitedly and reaching out to shake my hand. “Yes! Gladly! I- see you tomorrow!” and he runs out of the room, an excited whoop echoing behind him. As soon as he’s gone my smile drops and I work my jaw in circles. Smiling _hurts_ , when held for so long without feeling anything to cause it. Still, the mission start was a success; now onto the intel-gathering stage. Which means - sigh - following the tangerine around to learn her preferences.

At least I’ll be near Senpai.

 

~~~

 

Osana likes bad boys, who would’ve guessed. And she spends far too much of her day on her phone, doing nothing, not even near enough to Senpai for me to get a hit of emotion. Boring.

At least, with a plan in place, I get to sleep on time. I can work through sleep deprivation just fine, but it’s never conducive to optimal function.

 

~~~

 

Next lunch period finds me back in that empty classroom, handing a list of things he has to change about himself for the girl of his dreams to love him to a boy with low self-esteem.

“Oh my god, thank you so much!” he squeals, blushing and sparkle-eyed. He reads the list over twice and then tries to hug me; I step smoothly out of the way before he so much as makes contact. He recovers quickly, probably buoyed by the promise inherent in the list.

“Remember, you need to get this done by Friday at the absolute latest,” I remind him, “Be at the sakura tree right after school ends and I’ll make sure Osana’s there.”

He turns to me, all the color draining from his face. “But- but I’ve never talked to her-”

I pat his shoulder, soothing smile fixed, plastic-like, on my face. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it. You’ll be fine.”

He seems instantly reassured by this, and _naive_ is summarily added to his file. Then I wave him off to cut class and get his hair dyed. I’d prefer we got this over with on Thursday; bringing the whole thing to a close the same day the harpy is planning to confess to Senpai is too risky for my tastes, but it’s already Wednesday and the boy has quite a few requirements to fulfill. And if the whole thing falls through and I lose Senpai, adding one more person to my campaign of vengeance won’t be that much extra work.

Well. Much as I hate it, my only option now is to wait.

Except, of course, for planting the note in Osana’s locker asking her to come to the sakura tree at sunset - forged with my best impression of Senpai’s handwriting, to avoid any awkward things like her inviting him out for her confession, and throwing all my careful work into disarray. But that’s the work of a moment, done in the middle of lunch period - honestly, the school’s security is abysmal - and then, really, I’ve done all I can.

My plan is set in progress, and only time will tell whether it was a good one.

 

~~~

 

“Ayano-san!” the boy calls, panting as he runs up to me at the base of the sakura hill. Honestly, I’m amazed he knows my name; I’ve never told him, and to me he’s just some boy, instantly forgettable. At least he managed to get all the specifications correct; his hair is the correct shade and his ears are pierced, though I’m a bit concerned about the sparkly nature of his earrings.

“So,” he says, grinning like a madman, “What do I have to do to win fair Osana-chan’s heart?”

I fix him with a critical eye, then reach out and untie his tie and rumple his collar. “Stop talking like that. Osana likes bad boys, remember?”

He freezes, brow furrowed, and then leans back into an exaggerated slouch. “Hey, babe,” he drawls out, sleazy, and then bounces back to his feet, “Like that?”

I sigh. This whole thing makes me tired, really. His little infatuation, his eagerness to please- boring. It’s all so boring.

“Repeat after me,” is what I say, friendly facade never dropping, “‘Osana-chan, I’ve liked you from afar for a while. I think you’re beautiful and smart and cool enough to hang with me. Want to go out for coffee on Sunday?’ And then turn your head so your earring catches the sun.”

The boy nods along, mouthing the words. He smiles brightly when he reaches the end. “Yeah, I think I’ve-”

“Taro?” a voice calls from the other side of the hill, “Are you here? I got your note…”

Unceremoniously I shove the boy out into the tangerine’s line of sight, then press myself back into the shadows of the tree. It wouldn’t do to reveal my involvement at this juncture. From my hiding spot, I hear Osana’s exclamation of surprise, her offended little “You’re not Taro-!” and then the stumbling beginning of the boy’s confession. The sunset paints the petals falling around me blood-red, and I am… content. Not happy, obviously, Senpai’s not around, but… filled with the quiet vindication of a job well done.

The boy finishes his little speech, and turns his head just so, and in the light of the dying sun he looks, for just a moment, like some romanticized Hollywood version of a bad boy. Osana’s eyes widen and then go hooded and dark, and as she steps in to kiss him I slip off down the hill, silent as a shadow in the gathering dusk.

A job well done indeed.

 

~~~

 

Senpai was waiting for Osana at the school gate, even though she’s more than an hour late. I watch her run up to him and explain, interspersed with excited giggles, pointing back to her boyfriend loitering awkwardly behind her. Senpai smiles and nods, waving goodbye as she runs back to her new obsession. Senpai’s hand falls to his side and he stands there for a minute; then he picks up his bag and slowly begins the walk home. I follow him all the way back to his house, careful to stay just on the edge of his aura. Just enough that the colors pop, but not enough that my protective effectiveness is compromised. He belongs to me, and everything is fine.


	2. Week Two - Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This got quite a bit gayer than initially intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally considered naming this fic "Make Love, Not War", but I thought that might be a bit on the nose.

Everything is not fine. Everything is so completely far from ‘fine’ that ‘fine’ and ‘everything’ have to pay international rates on phone calls!

The text buzzes my phone early on Monday morning, when anyone else would just be waking up. But I’ve been riding high on my victory, nearly trembling with the anticipation of seeing Senpai again, and never went to bed. Info-chan’s news puts a stop to that, though.

 

_ Your Senpai has caught the eye of another girl. Just thought you should know. _

 

Crystal clarity hits me like a rush of cold water, banishing the cobwebs of sleepiness and muting me back to my normal grey existence. I wait, stupidly, for a flare of anger to burst red-hot beneath my skin. But Senpai is not with me (what would he look like, sleeping in my bed?) and it never comes. After much deliberation - still gray, still muted, but logical, at least - I compose my reply.

 

_ What, exactly, do you mean? _

 

Another text alert dings almost instantly; Info-chan must be waiting by her phone with eager anticipation.

 

_ Ah, ah, ah, any more and you’ll have to pay. With your skills, you could get me some high-quality panty shots… :P _

 

I frown and toss my phone onto my pillow. Fine, then. I can’t go around harming my reputation by doing her dirty work - that might drive Senpai away - but Aishis always find out what they need to know, eventually. I’ll just have to do this myself.

I pull on my uniform, movements jerky and over-strong; I nearly rip my stockings, trying to get them over my calves. Toast in hand, I set out for school, eyes narrowing to vengeful slits as the walls of Akademi High come into view.

I safely ushered Osana into the loving arms of another, and yet the universe has seen fit to mock me once again. I will find this girl - whoever she is, whoever dares challenge my claim on my Senpai - and we are going to have a little chat.

Whether it’s friendly or not is entirely up to her.

 

~~~

 

Senpai eats lunch alone, now that Osana’s busy with her boyfriend. He’s seated on the rim of the courtyard fountain, which is hardly the most secure place, but few bullies are likely to bother him in view of so many witnesses, so I allow it. I watch over him from the edge of the roof as he unpacks his meager bento; it seems that without Osana making him food, he can’t fill the gap himself. I fantasize for a moment about making him a bento of my own, of giving it to him with my love-

But no, that would require talking to him, and I’m not nearly ready for that, yet. He still makes me choke up and freeze with emotion whenever I get too near.

“Senpai-!” someone calls, and my head snaps up. A brown-haired girl steps into the courtyard, half a dozen baskets swinging from her soft arms and trailed by the scent of baking bread. She settles next to Senpai on the rim of the fountain, and hands over one of the baskets.

“I made you lunch, Senpai. I hope you enjoy it,” she says, smiling guileless and bright at him. His brows scrunch adorably, but he takes the proffered basket.

“Um, thank you, Amai-chan, but you didn’t need to do this,” he mutters, “I’m fine, you know.”

Her smile somehow kicks a few notches brighter. “I know, but I wanted to.” She punches him playfully in the shoulder, “Now, eat up before it gets cold!” Obediently, Senpai unwraps his food, exclaiming delightedly over whatever he finds inside the basket.

I know her. Her name in Senpai’s lovely voice finally jogged my memory; Amai Odayaka, the sugar-sweet head of the Cooking Club. She’s never really come to my attention before, lucky girl, except as a potential obstacle if I ever need to get into the Home Ec classroom. Shame she had to ruin her streak of uninteresting safety in the worst possible way.

“...and now that you don’t need to walk Osana home in the afternoon, how do you feel about joining a club? Perhaps… the Cooking Club?” she bats her eyelashes in a completely over-the-top way and smiles charmingly, making Senpai laugh. I find myself reflexively smiling at the bell-like sound, and quickly wipe the expression off my face with a scowl.

She’s subtler than Osana - it would be considerably difficult to be  _ more _ obvious that Osana, and her flirting could easily be mistaken for good-natured teasing - but I see everything around my precious Senpai. I see  _ her _ , and her blushing, evil ways, trying to bribe Senpai away from me with promises of cake.

“I’ll think about it, Amai-chan,” he promises, biting into a slice of soft, white bread spread with jam. Amai beams, smile soft and happy.

“That’s all I ask, Senpai.” Then she settles quietly beside him to eat her own lunch, and they descend into close, companionable silence. She dares to just… soak in his presence, when I can’t even get close without losing the ability to function and potentially scaring him away?

Oh, it is  _ on _ .

 

~~~

 

After the school day ends, I walk Senpai home, watching over him from the shadows. Then I make my way back to the school and head directly to the headquarters of the Cooking Club. The clubroom is pink and girly, and  _ she’s _ there, whisking something, all soft and kind and warm. It disgusts me. How does she expect to protect Senpai like that? How does she expect to keep him with nothing to offer?

And then I’m giddy, because  _ eeee! Disgust! I felt a thing without Senpai! _ and then  _ eeee! Giddiness! I felt ANOTHER thing without Senpai! _

Hmm. This bears further exploration.

“Amai-chan,” I call out as I step into the room. She looks up from her mixing bowl, a welcoming smile gently curving her lips.

“Hello? Are you here to join our club?”

Surprisingly, I actually feel the corners of my lips lift a little in response to her expression. That’s…never happened before. My face has always been completely under my control, except in the vicinity of Senpai, when it completely isn’t. Intrigued, I return the smile, as genuine as I can make it.

“My name is Ayano Aishi. Nice to meet you.”

Amai places a callused finger to her lips. “So… Yan-chan, then!” she smiles, bright as the sun, “Yes, I think that’s a good nickname!”

I stay silent, processing this. Her face falls.

“Unless you don’t like it, of course,” she says, disheartened, turning back to her mixing bowl.

I shrug. Hardly a great trial, if my goal is to ingratiate myself with her. “No, it’s okay. Yan-chan is a fine name.”

Her smile, when she looks back up, is blinding in its intensity. And there’s… no, that’s impossible. I glance around, half-expecting Senpai to pop out of the woodwork, but he left school an hour ago. It’s muted, like a faded oil painting, but…

Colors bubble up within me as she steps closer, the sugary scent of baking suddenly smelling like  _ home _ and  _ Mom _ and a thousand other things of comfort. The pink walls are still garish, but… amusingly. I look back at Amai just in time for her to gently bump my hip with her own, setting her mixing bowl aside to pull a sheet of cookies out of the oven.

Shivers spread out from that point of contact, skin prickling and shuddering until I’m nearly trembling with it. My mom and dad often gone and, what with my own standoffishness, I can go weeks without even a passing brush of shoulders in the school hallways. A touch like that, even such a brief one, makes my skin crawl and itch for more all at once; it’s a weakness that I don’t dare indulge more than I absolutely have to. And combined with the colors already filling my head with a soft pink glow, no matter how faded - it’s a recipe for disaster.

I don’t do anything so uncouth or noteworthy as jerk away; even strange and unexpected as this situation is, I maintain control of myself. Instead, I slowly, naturally retreat to the other side of the kitchen, giving Amai a wide berth until I can perch on the counter beside the sink.

“Here, I’m trying out a new recipe,” Amai hums, turning back with an unfairly distracting sway of her hips and a delicious-smelling platter of cookies. This time, though, she sets the platter beside me and then sweeps across the kitchen, washing her hands quickly before retrieving her mixing bowl. I raise an eyebrow, for a moment, and then it hits me like a lightning strike: she noticed my flinch, however minute, and moved to make me more comfortable. She  _ noticed my flinch, _ even through years of training and layers upon layers of control.

This will be a challenge. Contrary to her soft appearance, Amai is quite alert to the people and events around her. She’d have to be; as far as I can tell, she basically lives in her kitchen, and kitchens are dangerous places.

I pinch one of the cookies off the platter and examine it suspiciously - caramel chunks and macadamia nuts stare back at me, glistening enticingly. Amai chuckles from across the room.

“In case you’re wondering, yes, that is a bribe. I’m always looking for new members for the Cooking Club,” she winks at me, reaching into the boxes behind her and pinching a bit of spice for the bowl without looking, “So? Is it working?”

Very tentatively, I take a bite.

Well. My. This is the first time I’ve eaten in range of the colors, and. Wow. Okay, so this is what true flavor tastes like; sweet and soft and crunchy and full of green and blue. That’s… I didn’t realize other people experienced taste beyond ‘poisonous’ and ‘not poisonous’. Amai laughs again, and I have to school my expression so as not to glare at her. Huh, embarrassment, that’s interesting.

“You look like you’re having a religious experience,” Amai teases, stepping a bit closer. I have to blink a bit to refocus my eyes, and when I glance back down the cookie has disappeared from my hand. I furrow my brow at my crumb-covered fingers, and Amai, smiling, hands me another one. “Sooo…?”

Abruptly, I regain my senses. I can’t be connected to Amai in any official capacity, in case something has to be… done about her. But it could be useful to be on friendly terms with her up until such an eventuality, and no, that is not just the sticky caramel remains of my second cookie talking.

“I’m not sure,” I finally settle on, and lean over to rinse my hands in the sink so she can’t see my face, “Can I hang around for a bit before I decide?”

Absolutely beaming, Amai nods. “I have to close up now, but you’re welcome to come back tomorrow!” She stretches a skein of plastic wrap over the top of her mixing bowl and places it in the fridge, turning back to me with hands on her hips. A wide smile suddenly breaks across her face, eyes crinkling and nose snubbing up.

“I might not be here when you arrive. We should exchange phone numbers!” she says, strangely animated.

Hmm. That’s a… weighty decision. Mom always urges the importance of discretion, but this risk brings me closer to Amai, which carries the promise of great reward. The ultimate reward. Senpai.

Plus, I somehow don’t think Amai would give my phone number to the police to track, though one can never be sure.

“Okay,” I acquiesce hesitantly, accepting her phone and typing in my number. Our fingers brush once as I hand her phone back (already overwhelmed as I am under the onslaught of tastes and color, this little touch should barely register; but it still shivers under my skin, vibrates through my bones). A second later my phone buzzes with a text, and it is done - a third contact in my sad little list, right below Info-chan and Mom’s rarely-used cell phone, which is currently sitting in a box in the master bedroom as an added layer of security against discovery while on vacation. The last text I received from that number was over half a year ago.

Amai’ gaze sweep across the room once, making sure everything is in its place. When she’s content that all is as it should be, she smiles, soft and gentle, and ushers me out of the clubroom, careful to touch me as little as possible. Once she’s locked the door, she turns to me, still smiling.

“See you tomorrow, Yan-chan,” she says, and then she’s gone, taking the colors with her.

 

~~~

 

Senpai has to stay after school to make up a test, so I forgo waiting for him to head immediately to the Cooking Club. There’s a few other girls in the kitchen when I arrive, but Amai quickly clears off part of the counter next to the sink and gestures for me to sit. I settle next to her, watching as she carefully dips a strawberry into a vat of bubbling chocolate. We don’t speak, her deep in focus, I off-handedly keeping tabs on everyone in the room.

The other girls slowly filter out as they finish their individual projects, until it’s only me and Amai once again. I bask in the colors, no matter how muted, picking through each of the many delicious smells suffusing the room and reveling in the emotions each one pops into inside my head. I’m a bit disturbed by the overwhelmingly positive associations Amai’s own baking-bread scent brings bubbling up, but there’s nothing much I can do about it.

When she’s done we smile at each other, having spent over an hour in companionable silence. I help her pack her chocolate-dipped fruits into the freezer, and she gives me a brief, tight hug in exchange.

And so she leaves me, frozen in shock outside the clubroom door, frightened beyond measure at the sudden realization that my smile was genuine. The touch - so much  _ so much _ \- trembles pink-green-blue across my skin and under it, raising the hairs along my arms.

Then Amai rounds the corner, vanishing from sight, and the colors fade. The fear and fright disappear back into the constant gray background of simple, pragmatic caution. The humming in my bones clicks off like a lightswitch, and I am free to move once more.

I pick up my bag and slip out the front door of the school and - what luck! - spot Senpai emerging as well, apparently done with his test. I guard him all the way home, the habit calming even as my lack of a plan for dealing with Amai haunts me like a looming specter.

 

~~~

 

She finds him at lunch again, and presents him with a bouquet of chocolate-covered fruits. I just  _ know _ that if I was closer to the two of them, if I  _ could, _ I would be seeing red. I helped her make those, and she steals that small victory for herself? The- the-

But she’s not a harpy, is she? She’s… she cares. Much as it pains me to admit, my initial assessment was wrong: she is a worthy opponent. But still, such betrayal can’t be forgiven.

 

~~~

 

“Amai-chan, do you need a taste-tester?” I ask, once again perched on the counter beside the sink. It pains me to spend so much time away from Senpai, but I need to know my enemy if I’m going to best her. Amai finishes laying out a row of perfect pink, batter-dipped shrimp and slides the pan into the oven.

“Why yes, I do, Yan-chan,” she says, gently closing the oven, “Are you offering?”

I paste a smile on my face. “I’d be happy to. After all, your cooking always tastes fantastic.” She laughs, and I file the sound away for future use. Genuine, amused laughter is surprisingly hard to find a good example to copy.

“My cooking doesn’t  _ always _ taste fantastic. New dishes come out a bit iffy the first few times. That’s what taste-testers are for, to help me improve!” She props her hip up against the island, facing me across the narrow breadth of the kitchen and nods at the slowly-warming oven. “You’ll have your first assignment as soon as those finish, if you want.”

“Alright,” I agree, and then we descend into the sort of light-hearted chatter I’ve been able to fake since third grade. Minutes tick by, Amai leaning closer and gesticulating wildly, halfway through a story I missed the start of amidst gales of not-as-forced-as-I-wish-it-was laughter.

And that’s when I realize I’ve stopped updating my mental file on her. All the fresh information, all the possible pressure points and fulcrums on which to spin this girl away from my Senpai have flown over my head, in favor of laughing banter and her hand resting lightly on my shoulder.

The timer beeps, and she turns away to remove the pan from the oven. I take the moment to school my face into careful blankness, every one of Mom’s many lessons echoing in the back of my mind - always have more information than you need, never get into a fight you cannot win, no witnesses can be allowed to escape, and most importantly -  _ never forget who your enemies are. _ I broke rule one of being an Aishi, beyond even ‘never use real names when on vacation’.

It’s the colors, I know, making me panic - as soon as I get away from Amai I’ll be able to think more rationally, examine the situation and excise the parts jeopardizing my plans. But for now all I can do is watch in helpless horror as Amai turns back, carefully waving a sheet of paper at the pan to cool the shrimp faster. After a moment she hums in satisfaction, smiling at me.

“Okay. For your first taste-testing task, try some of these breaded shrimp. Say ‘ahh!’” Amai holds up a lump of golden-brown perfection. It smells heavenly, enough to make even my mouth water - at least with the assistance of Amai’s faint aura. Though the moment I want nothing more than to flee back into the gray safety of away-from-Amai, I control myself. I reach out to take it from her, opening my mouth to ask a question-

Her fingertips brush the inside of my mouth as she hand-feeds it to me, completely without warning. Then she’s retreating, shrimp successfully delivered; I have the presence of mind to close my mouth, but not much more than that. Even with the skin contact I’ve gotten in the last week, in the process of becoming Amai’s friend - all the little hugs and hip-bumps and hands brushing each other as she bakes - I’m hardly used to it on the best of days, and that was so much more intimate than anything before. So my skin crawls, shivery and painful and unbearably sweet, where her fingers ever-so-gently touched my lips, and it just adds to the mounting confusion and almost-terror.

“How does it taste, Yan-chan?” Amai smiles at me, nearly as soft and sweet as her touch. Oh, right. The shrimp.

Oh no, the shrimp, which spreads tastes and colors across my tongue, rich-salt-bread bringing emotions (yellow-purple-black) snapping at its heels - comfort, home, the rare days Mom can get away and take me out to the carnival the next town over.

“It’s-” my voice shakes. It shivers and gives out under the onslaught of colors popping around me, pulsing red-green-pink beneath my skin like they never have before, radiating out from all our little points of contact.

“It’s good,” I manage, “But I forgot I have to- left the stove on. See you tomorrow.”

Without waiting for her response, I flee the room, desperately trying not to shake out of my skin.

 

~~~

 

I nearly don’t return to the Cooking Club the next day. But that decision is made in the presence of Senpai, where the fear burns icy-cold through my veins. Later, immersed in gray in a class of boring faceless students, I know that’s not an option. I still have no plan to deal with her, and it’s already Thursday. If nothing else presents itself, I can just invite her to my house and put a final end to this.

Because, after all, fascinating though Amai is, Senpai’s still the only one who lights up the world with every color there is to know. I won’t lose him, not for anything; not for touch or cookies or the strangely peaceful smell of baking bread.

I am Ayano Aishi, latest in a long line of women who have never failed to win their destined person. If I don’t succeed, this grayness, this neverending boredom is all the happily ever after I will ever see.

And that, of course, is simply not an option.

And then she texts me,

 

_ Coming to the club this afternoon? _

 

And, well, it wouldn’t do to raise suspicions this late in the game, so I simply text back

 

_ Yes. _

 

~~~

 

“What’s this for, Amai-chan?” I ask, hefting a cute green basket full of cookies. We’re alone again, but someone’s left it behind on the kitchen island. Amai looks up, closing the oven, and laughs.

“Oh, that’s just a gift. For someone special to me.”

My hands instinctively tighten on the basket’s wicker handle. “Oh?” my voice falls monotone, dead, “Who?”

So that’s how she’s playing it? Silently berating myself, cursing my weakness and fallibility, I slowly set the basket back down. This girl would steal my Senpai from me, without a moment’s regret. I can’t afford to let this go on any longer.

Amai flashes me a smile as she rolls out more dough. “For you, silly Yan-chan! I saw you eyeing the molasses cookies, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Amai,” I snap, sharper than I meant to. She looks up, startled, dough squishing out between her fingers, and I quickly set the wicker basket aside before it splinters in my grasp. It’s time to end this little game, this song and dance we’ve been playing all week. I find myself curiously disliking the thought of hurting her, but I will, if I must. Some things are simply more important.

“Amai-chan…” I begin again, softer, schooling my face into a proper rictus of nervousness and chagrin for what I’m about to ask. I’ve studied the rest of humanity for years; I know how to look normal if I try, even if my voice still lies inflectionless. “There’s a boy you like.”

Amai’s eyebrows rise. “You know about that?” She sets down the ball of dough, watching me intently.

I avert my gaze. For all my practice, I haven’t yet got the hang of appearing sincere, especially to someone as shrewd as Amai. “I like him, too, and… I really can’t bear not to have him. Could you please stay away from him?”

There’s a long silence. I don’t dare look at Amai, for fear she’ll see the cruel intent in my gaze. It’s twelve steps to the knife drawer. She’s not going to take my Senpai from me, one way or another. Even if the colors do faintly glow around her.

Amai starts giggling.

"You're so cute, Yan-chan! I'd be happy to bake for you, too." I whip around, uncaring of the unpleasant cracking sound my neck makes, to stare at her in unadulterated shock. Another emotion I’ve experienced in Amai’s presence. It really is so odd.

“I’m sorry, what-”

She gives me a look of perfect serenity. "Why don't we share Senpai?"

I watch her. She watches me. Am I going to have to stab this woman? There doesn’t seem to be any sort of subterfuge in her eyes, just a sort of quiet amusement and curiosity.

“What… do you mean?” I ask cautiously. She smiles.

“I was planning to confess to him under the sakura tree on Friday. Would you like to come with me?”

The room is spinning. Or is that just me? “No- no, I couldn’t,” I stutter out, hands suddenly clenched in my skirt.

“Why not?” Amai tilts her head, bird-like, a slight smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Her eyes are bright.

“Because-” I cast around wildly for something, anything. The part of my brain devoted to subterfuge and alibis gives an apologetic shrug, the faint colors still enough to muddle everything. Well. Truth it is. “His presence is… overwhelming. I can’t function normally around him. He’ll think I’m weird and-” Oh. I could have just feigned embarrassment. Thanks, brain. Ten seconds too late. And now Amai knows my weakness.

Amai’s eyebrows dance a tango with her hairline. “I see,” is all she says, “Well, we can plan around that, you know.”

Silence reigns as I digest that. She’s curiously invested in this, isn’t she? Not that I’m any sort of expert, but I don’t believe this situation is normal.

“I,” I pause, considering, and meet her eyes. Can’t hurt, right? I’ve already lost so much precious intel to my own distraction, I should try to make up for it at least somewhat. “Please explain. In detail.”

Her smile nearly swallows her face as she begins to describe her plan. In extreme detail.

I’m blushing long before she finishes.

 

~~~

 

It’s my job to leave the note in his locker. Amai wrote it, but I’m by far the sneakier of the two of us. It’s simple enough to slip into the coatroom before class and leave it; I hang around and watch from the corner as he finds it at lunch, blushes, and tucks it away. Then I text Amai to tell her the good news, and spend the rest of the day alternating between walking on air and laboring under the crushing weight of worry.

I have a chance. No, Amai has a chance. No, we both do. No, he’s my Senpai and  _ only _ mine. And on and on.

The last bell rings, and I slink away to the hill. I’m too nervous to step out from behind the tree at the sound of approaching footsteps, but it’s just the familiar, soft shape of Amai who rounds the trunk. She drops her bag next to mine.

“I thought I’d find you here,” she smiles gently, and takes my hand in her own rough one, work-calloused from her hours upon hours of baking. The smell of pastries that follows her everywhere drifts, delicious and reassuring, rather than just another scent as it would be in anyone else’s company besides Senpai’s.

Footsteps crunch through the grass, trudging up the hill. “Hello?” Senpai’s dear, sweet voice calls out, and I instantly freeze up.

“It’ll be fine,” Amai reassures me, and steps in close. I’m halfway through leaning away when she reaches up and places a finger against my lips. Then she flashes me a devious, promising smile, and ducks back around the tree to greet Senpai. I completely miss the beginning of their conversation; my face is too busy heating up as I gently touch the spot.

Sakura petals drift down around them. When I tune back in, Amai has her hands clasped in front of her. “Senpai, I think you know why I called you out here.” She smiles up at him, calm and happy.

“Um… no, actually. What is it, Amai-chan? I have homework,” Senpai glances anxiously at his watch. Amai and I both blink several times in quick succession, and then Amai starts giggling.

“Wow, of all the things- Senpai, I like you. Really like you. I’d like to go out with you.”

The bark of the tree cracks beneath my grip. Senpai’s face goes slack with surprise, but he’s rallying. He’s about to agree, and then I’m going to have to murder Amai for betraying me. I turn and slink back down the hill to find a weapon.

“But that’s not all,” Amai interrupts, stopping me in my tracks, “Senpai... actually, there's two of us that like you. She asked me to talk to you, because she’s much too shy to woo you herself.”

I resent that. I’m not too shy. It’s just, whenever I get close to him the colors get overwhelming and my heart grows too full. Is that how normal people feel all the time? Amai’s muted colors are enough to send me spiraling into uselessness. How do they function?

I creep back to the tree, peering around the trunk at my lovely Senpai. He doesn’t seem freaked out at the idea of a secret admirer, at least. "Who is it? I can't choose between you if I don't know the choices."

My hands clench into fists once more. Oh, so that’s her game. Make him choose, and of course he’ll pick the girl he knows and who brings him cupcakes every day. And then, it’s a fair choice, isn’t it? I let her woo him, I decided to trust her-

Amai suddenly appears at my side, gently drawing me out from behind the tree. "This is my friend Ayano, and we're a package deal.”

The very second I step into Senpai’s aura, I blush like the sun. The world goes bright, and a thousand emotions - not muted, like they are around Amai, but full-on crashing, fluttering unbearable  _ feelings _ \- burst behind my eyes. Amai takes my hand in hers before I can start fidgeting, and together we face Senpai.

He stares dumbly at us for perhaps half a minute; I’m too distracted by the wisps of purple the setting sun casts against the sky to be bothered to count properly. Then all of a sudden, a blush appears at the base of his throat, and spreads like a forest fire up his cheeks until his whole face is red. Amai laughs and nudges me.

“Think he gets it, now?”

I blink, refocusing on her, and she laughs again. “Wow, your pupils are the size of dinner plates. Guess you weren’t kidding, huh?”

Senpai’s knees give out and he sits heavily to the ground, and Amai pulls me down to join him. She produces a packet of cookies from somewhere and hands them around, making sure my share actually reaches my mouth as I stare at the beautiful shine of dim, sunset light through the love-blush-pink sakura petals.

Senpai eats two cookies for courage before speaking a single word. “So- so saying yes to you, Amai-chan, means I’m…saying yes to both of you?” Senpai finally gets out. I manage to look at him, but his face is so beautiful it hurts. How could I have ever thought he was merely  _ cute _ , even from a distance? It’s like… like…

I lean over and mumble to Amai, “He’s like if the taste of your cooking was made into a person.”

She laughs and pats my hand, turning back to Senpai. “Yes. Both of us or neither, that’s the deal. I understand if that’s a bit strange, and you don’t want to make a decision right away-”

“No! Uh,” Senpai reddens even further and hides behind his hands, “No, I’d love to go out with both of you. How’s- do you know the cafe on Main Street? Do you two want to meet up there, for lunch tomorrow?” His voice gets quieter and quieter until it’s barely more than a whisper. Amai grins in triumph, squeezing my hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, I come back to myself. The colors are still there, brilliantly so, but they're less blinding. The emotions still rock my soul with their power, but it’s more enjoyable, less overwhelming. It’s become a bit easier to act normally around him. Still, I find myself curiously… grateful, to Amai. Somehow, she single-handedly kept things from getting awkward or weird until I could adjust.

So when she casts a curious glance my way, I’m present enough to smile softly at the boy of my dreams and nod. “That sounds wonderful, Senpai. May…  _ we _ kiss you before we go?”

Senpai stares at me for a long, long second, eyes wide and dark. His face goes impossibly redder - we’re verging on crayon colors, here - and then suddenly his eyelids flutter and he lists to the side.

He hits the ground with a thump that seems to echo in the cool evening air, out cold. Amai and I look at each other, blinking in confusion, then back his still form, share a concerned glance, and set about trying to wake him up. After shaking, slapping, and the smell of cookies proves ineffective (Amai vetoed True Love’s Kiss, citing that “It’s creepy to kiss people who haven’t given you permission”), I shrug and heft him into my arms.

“What are you doing?” Amai asks, brow furrowed even as she packs up the last of the food.

“We should take him home, shouldn’t we?” I try to lift my tone into light concern and confusion. Apparently following people home is creepy, too, even if you’re only concerned for their well-being.

“Oh! Do you know where Senpai lives, Yan-chan?” she asks, picking up all three school bags. She doesn’t sound accusatory, so I relax somewhat.

“...yes,” is all I say, but she seems content with that.

“Alright! Let’s bring Senpai home. We should probably leave a note or something, so he doesn’t think he dreamed this whole thing.” She laughs at the absurdity of the situation, and I, for once, actually feel the humor.

I know the route to Senpai’s house by heart, all the turns and shortcuts and dark corners a quiet girl can hide herself, if she so chooses. That’s not the road I show Amai. We wander through residential streets, getting lost, laughing at ourselves, and talking animatedly. Senpai is a comfortable, warm weight in my arms.

I realize that I’m delaying longer than even throwing off suspicion warrants. After the twisting messy path we’ve taken, no one would believe that I know this neighborhood like the back of my hand. But I don’t… want to. I’m enjoying myself too much.

I’m  _ enjoying _ myself. Huh.

But the sun is going down, and I find myself concerned for Amai’s well-being; I don’t want her walking home in the dark, where anything could happen to her. So I sigh, and steer us down the right street, and there’s Senpai’s familiar house with a light burning in the window. Senpai still hasn’t woken up, but his breathing and his heartbeat are normal so at this point I’m pretty sure he’s just fallen asleep.

“This is it,” I say, nodding at the house. Amai shifts the three bags to one shoulder and steps up to knock. Within seconds, the door springs open.

“Big brother, I was so wor- Who are you?” Standing in the wide-thrown doorway is a miniature, pigtailed Senpai. Amai and I exchange a glance, and then I carefully step forward with my precious armful.

“Here’s your brother,” I say, brusquely. All I get is a mistrustful glare. “He passed out at school. We’re his friends; we offered to take him home.” The night is growing cold around us, and I’m worried about Senpai.

“Where’s Osana?” the girl demands. Amai steps forward alongside me.

“I think she was out with her boyfriend tonight? Anyway, can we bring Taro-kun inside? We don’t want him catching a cold.”

There’s a few more seconds of glaring, some muttering about the follies of dating, and then the girl begrudgingly moves aside. I step into the house I’ve watched every day for more than two weeks, excitement tingling in my nerves. Honestly, the best way to describe it is… normal. Open floor plan, beige couch, family photos, modern kitchen; if I had bothered to imagine anything about what the interior of Senpai’s house looked like, it would be exactly this.

“Put him on the couch and then go away!” the girl snarls, ushering me further in. I carefully set Senpai down and tuck a pillow under his head; Amai puts his schoolbag on the floor beside the couch and pulls up a blanket to cover him with. All the while, Miss Little Sister glares at us. The second we’re done, she grabs Amai’s hand and drags her towards the door.

“Out! Both of you! I need to make sure Big Brother’s okay.”

Amai chuckles. “Okay, okay, we know how to take a hint. Good night!” We’re pushed out into the cold and dark and the door is slammed in our faces. Confused silence reigns for a second.

“Did we leave a note?” I ask. Amai nods.

“I stuck it in his math folder when I dropped his bag, since I’m fairly sure his sister will do her utmost to convince him that we were a fever dream.” She smirks, just the tiniest bit, and I’m nearly tempted to high-five her; I didn’t know she possessed such deviousness beneath her pastry-scented curves. But I don’t, and we stand there for a minute more, the silence slowly growing awkward.

“See you tomorrow, at the cafe?” Amai asks. I nod. She flashes me a smile and begins to walk away. On impulse, I call after her.

“I had fun tonight.”

She pauses, the sun slowly sinking below the horizon, a moment stretched to eternity before she turns back around. Her gaze reflects red and orange as the last of the light is swallowed by the earth, and her eyes suddenly glint with a steely light. Decision apparently made, she marches back towards me and steps up into my space. A soft smile curves those red, red lips as she looks me right in the eye.

“Can I kiss you?”

A chuckle forces its way out of my suddenly-dry throat. That  _ red _ is even more overwhelming than the sunset, setting off an explosion of  _ want _ \- mostly, but also something soft and inexplicable and warm - deep in my chest. “Because kissing without permission is creepy?”

She nods. I examine her simple, soft face closely and mull over the last few hours. I look up, at the shine of the streetlamp and the stars whose beauty I can finally understand.

“Yes, please.”

 

~~~

 

Later that night, as I’m getting ready for bed, I receive a single text from a blocked number.

 

_ I have no further use for you, as you are. Our deal is off. Goodbye _

 

I shrug and finish pulling on my pajamas, Amai’s kiss lingering warm on my lips. We have a date tomorrow. I have no further need of Info-chan, either. Though I do wonder what changed her mind…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins... BUCKLE UP KIDS we’re in for a WILD ride! So, I’m going to try to update this every Wednesday, but let’s see how long that lasts.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not meant to glorify stalking, obsession, possessive behavior, or anything of that ilk; it's supposed to be a character study of Ayano and how she sees the world (and, of course, hopeless fluff later on). However, if at any time this fic seems to encourage unhealthy behaviors, let me know so I can change it!
> 
> Also, please tell me if I've forgotten to tag something important. I want everyone who wants to find this fic be able to find it, and everyone who doesn't be able to keep themselves safe!


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